


Something I Can Never Have

by taralkariel



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, F/M, POV Alternating, Repressed Memories, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-28
Updated: 2015-09-04
Packaged: 2018-04-17 15:10:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 12,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4671293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taralkariel/pseuds/taralkariel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Winter Soldier is getting used to working with the Avengers, and coming to terms with who he is and was. The Black Widow has made herself into who she needs to be, but an encounter with a ghost from her past brings back some memories that both of them had forgotten. (alternating POVs, comics canon integrated)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I Still Recall the Taste of Your Tears

**Author's Note:**

> Titles from the NIN song of the same name.

His memories are cold.  Blinding snow, frigid metal, ice creeping through his veins.  He remembers the experiments first.  These give way to memories of Brooklyn, which is quite a relief.  It was cold there, too, but it was good.  Far better than what came after.  The war comes next, confusingly intermixed with later assignments so that he cannot be sure who he was during each.  Paying attention to his hands helps with that – are they both flesh and blood or is one heavy and terrifying?  Terrifying to others; he isn’t bothered by it.

Eventually, he comes out of hiding to find Steve Rogers.  Because he thinks maybe he deserves to do more than just survive, to just wait for this hell to end and a fresh one to appear.  He thinks he has no shortage of enemies, and being found by any of them would not be a pleasant experience.  And now he’s allowed to consider having pleasant experiences.  Well, maybe.  Avoiding unpleasant ones is something he’ll consider, at any rate.  So he goes to Avengers Tower.

He is not welcomed with open arms, but he did not expect to be.  Steve is happy, of course, and welcoming, but the others are suspicious of him and do not keep him company often.  Which is fine.  He sees Steve and Sam Wilson, and they are friendly to him.  He doesn’t think he would know what to do if the others were as friendly, so it is just fine to rarely see anyone else.  Steve wants Bucky back, but knows on some level that this is impossible.  He tries to be as much like that person as he can.  It’s hard.  Sam understands more, sees him as whom he really is.  He decides he’s glad Sam is so frequently there.

At some point, he is deemed trustworthy enough to accompany them on missions.  He isn’t sure if Steve pressed for this or if he wanted to keep him safe at home.  Sam is more reliable with his assessments of the Soldier’s wellbeing, and likely had a lot to do with getting him something to do outside of the Tower.  He’s pleased to be on missions again, even if he’s not supposed to have enjoyed the old ones.  It’s something he knows he can do well, and there is precious little of that in his life.

He goes on missions with Steve for a while, and is somewhat redundant because they do not use his skills.  That’s logical – it’s too early to think they would put him in a position where his unexpected response to something might jeopardize the whole thing.  The first few are with just Sam and Steve anyway, and they see no need for stealth.  He doesn’t agree with that assessment, but doesn’t say anything.  Then Stark’s kid joins them, perhaps because everyone agrees he can’t hurt a man in a metal suit (he’s not sure they’re right).  He gets along with Tony, though, with another man who’s been a prisoner of war and unwillingly had mechanical implements attached to his body.  Not that being with Tony is like being with Sam or Steve, but they share enough experiences to work together.

Finally, he starts accompanying the Widow or Hawkeye on the more spy-like assignments.  He likes these.  He can’t compete with Romanoff in her field, though his sharp-shooting skills rival Barton’s.  He is a valuable asset and feels useful again.  The two of them speak to him rarely, which is fine.  They have similar goals and training, so speaking during a mission is not much of a necessity.  And he doesn’t usually talk to anyone outside of assignments.  He likes to keep to himself; reading, training, anything to keep the nightmares at bay.

Now that he’s going on missions, the memories of his others start to become more focused, less confusing.  He doesn’t like them.  He likes that his memories of Brooklyn have come back, but would be fine with not knowing the specifics of what he’s been doing since the 1940s.  It wasn’t anything good, he knows.  Rationally, he supposes it could help him identify potential enemies, but he doesn’t want to do that anymore.  He just wants to be left alone.

 

“You ready, Buck?”  Steve’s voice, in that hesitant tone seemingly only used for him.  The others mainly call him Barnes, anyway.

“Yeah,” he replies, fastening the last piece of his gear.  It’s not the same as what he wore for HYDRA, but it’s similar.  It was a tactically useful uniform, even if it does conjure bad memories, so he doesn’t deviate from it too much in his current choices.  Having the ability to choose what to wear is a pleasant change, though.

They were briefed yesterday, but Steve reminds him what the op is as they head for the quinjet.  He always likes to check.  “So, Makarov is in charge of the group now, and he’s making threats against some of SHIELD’s allies.”  SHIELD doesn’t exist anymore, so how can it have allies?  He doesn’t ask.  It’s not in his nature these days.  “He has hostages and we are going to go free them and take him into custody.  The compound is outside Moscow, underground.  It’s supposed to be well-hidden, but Nat says she knows where it is.  She’s been there before.”  Steve calls the Widow Nat.  He doesn’t think that suits her.  “You and she are going to go in while Barton and I are backup.  We’ll be close by, just radio if you need anything.”

“Alright,” he says placidly when Steve’s done.  He’s glad Stark isn’t coming; he always makes jokes whenever he and the Widow are working together, referencing their Russian past.  He’d prefer not to think of his at all, and he knows the Widow isn’t too happy about hers, either.  Stark is insensitive, but not maliciously so.  He’s a smart guy and good addition to the team, even if he tends to annoy.

Hawkeye and the Widow are in the cockpit already when they arrive, and they take off shortly.  He settles down in the back, knowing it will be a long trip.  Steve goes to talk to the rest of his team, chatting, but also taking stock of their fitness for a mission.  He’s familiar with the technique.  He’s always fit for a mission.  It’s likely that they are, too, so Steve might be wasting his time.  He doesn’t know too much about Barton, but he knows Romanoff had any weaknesses trained out of her, just like he did.  Perhaps that’s why they get along so well on missions, but generally avoid each other outside of them.  It’s not a fact one likes to be reminded of.

After a while, Steve comes back to chat with him, too, and he obliges for a while.  Memories of the war are returning more or less intact, possibly due to seeing Steve lead missions so often now, and that gives them some common ground.  The things that followed the war are still mostly hazy.  Well, decorated with moments of cold and pain and he doesn’t like to think of any of it.  Being awake helps, so he won’t dwell on it now.

Barton and Romanoff are legends, one of the greatest teams in the intelligence community.  It’s always interesting to see them together, whether on assignment or not.  They tease each other like siblings do, he thinks, and it’s surprising to see the Widow acting like that.  She’s normally distant, wearing a façade.  He sees it slip sometimes, like when Steve calls her Nat, but Barton is the only one who apparently gets to see her being herself most of the time.  So being around them gives him a glimpse into how, well, normal someone like him might eventually become.  It’s a nice idea.

They land and Steve gives last-minute orders.  He listens but doesn’t require a reminder that they are taking prisoners, not killing anyone if they can avoid it.  Being non-lethal is more of a challenge than the alternative, but it’s not like he enjoys destroying other human beings.  He only enjoyed missions as the Soldier because they were so much better than what he did (or had done to him) between them.

The Widow’s expression is closed-off, mission-ready, and he follows her through dark and disgusting tunnels underneath the street toward the compound she claims is there.  The architecture is not conducive for what a good military base would require, and he is a little skeptical.  It’s not his place to question her, though, so continues in silence.  If he were Barton or Steve, he supposes she would joke with him about the smell or the cramped quarters.  But because he is who he is, she is silent and focused.  He doesn’t mind; it’s how he prefers to be.  Soldiers make jokes to steady their nerves before going into battle.  But he’s not a soldier, hasn’t really been one since the war, and nerves are not an issue.

When they reach what is clearly a concrete bunker, he hides a smile.  If she were Steve or Sam, he would have made a comment about being sorry for doubting her, something about it being the first time she was right.  Which isn’t true, of course.  Instead, he doesn’t say anything, and she doesn’t comment on his brief expression.  They are both carrying charges that help open the door, silently affixing them in the most efficient pattern without having to discuss it.  Then they seek cover and hold their ears until the deep sound they can hear in their bones lets them know they can get in.  So much for covert.

The place is a labyrinth, and he’s glad to have her there to guide him through.  They weren’t able to gather much intel on Makarov, and know nothing about this place.  He verifies that their comms still work before they get much deeper.  She seems to know where she is going, the hard expression on her face discouraging comment on why she knows it so well.  That’s alright; he can guess.

It’s not empty, and is in fact up and running.  They move stealthily, occasionally having to dispatch those who get too close, but no one seems to be investigating the explosion, so they have surprise on their side.  He can’t help but feel a little concerned about the lack of response, though, and becomes more and more on edge.  She seems to feel the same, and glances at him before contacting Barton and suggesting backup would not go unappreciated.  So his expression must have shown his unease.

She stops when the hallway they are moving through is about to open onto a larger room and leans against the wall, out of sight.  He mimics this precaution.  “You think we should wait for them or head in?” she asks.

She doesn’t usually ask him questions.  He considers.  “The time table we were given indicates we have an hour left.  But that’s assuming Makarov is going to honor his agreement.”  She raises an eyebrow, waiting.  “A smart man would know who he was talking to, and expect SHIELD to send someone in.  It’s probably a trap.”

“He took hostages so we’d be tempted to go in anyway.”

He shrugs.  “Let’s spring the trap,” he replies.  She smiles at him, a real smile, and he finds himself returning the gesture.

“I like the way you think,” she says, and presses a button on her wrists, making the Widow’s Bites glow blue.

It is, indeed, a trap.  But not one built to contain people like them, so they hold their own for a while.  Capturing instead of killing is the plan, but is not a goal shared by HYDRA, so he figures he’s killed a few of them despite his attempts not to.  It’s not something that will haunt him, though, since it’s self-defense (more or less).  There does not appear to be any definite leader in the throng of men, so perhaps Makarov isn’t here.  The hostages, children, are in a cage in the corner and crying.  He supposes he and the Widow don’t exactly look like heroes come to rescue them.

Steve and Barton arriving hopefully does something to reassure them, but he stays focused on the fight.  HYDRA always seems to have an endless supply of nameless goons, and he wonders where they could possibly get them all.  It had been dicey before the backup showed, but now it’s clear they have the upper hand and he manages to keep from killing anyone else.

“Alright, that’s enough!” a voice bellows, bringing them all to a startled halt.

A man is standing near the cage, holding one of the children by the collar and brandishing a gun.  The sight fills him with anger unexpectedly, but he doesn’t move, waiting for orders.  A cursory glance tells him that Steve is not sure what to do, and he focuses on the speaker again, looking for a weakness.

“SHIELD thinks it can just send you thugs in here and take what they want?  Do you even know what the parents of these sweet children have done?  What they deserve to have done to them?” the man demands, clearly Makarov.

“Murdering children won’t solve anything,” Steve says, in that authoritative-yet-soothing tone he manages to pull off so well.

The man opens his mouth to speak, then stops abruptly, seeing the four of them as though for the first time.  “Natalia Romanova, what a pleasant surprise,” he says in Russian, laughing at some joke no one else understands.

The Widow looks stricken for a moment before a cool smile covers for her.  “Alexei, it’s been a long time.  Didn’t know you changed your name.”

“Most of us do when we alter our loyalties,” he responds, still laughing.  Then he turns his attention to the Soldier.  “How fitting that you two traitors are working together,” he adds, a hint of bitterness in his tone.

“Let them go, Alexei,” Romanoff insists, still in Russian.  Steve and Barton look tense but a little confused, not following the conversation.  If the Widow signals in some way, it’s likely that he’s the only one who will catch it quickly.

“I can’t do that, Natalia,” Makarov is almost apologetic.  “Why don’t you just take your boys and head home, for old time’s sake?” he suggests.

She smiles at him, disarmingly, lowering her weapon.  Then she coils almost imperceptibly like a spring and jumps at him, knocking the gun from his hand.  The other men in the room immediately leap into action and he’s distracted from what she and Makarov are doing.  Until a shot goes off, deafening in the enclosed space.  By the way the goons flee, he knows their leader must be injured or worse.

When they clear, he sees Romanoff standing over Makarov, her gun in her hand, staring down at him, her expression showing more shock than he would have expected.  He moves over to her cautiously, and gently takes the weapon from her hand.  The man is dead, they are no longer in immediate danger, and she doesn’t look like her head is in the right place to be handling deadly weapons.  He’s surprised by her reaction, for surely she’s shot someone at close range before, possibly as unplanned as this appears to be, but doesn’t comment.

“He was my husband,” she says suddenly, and he blinks at her, at the unprecedented comment.  It does go some way to explain her reaction, but brings up a great deal of questions.

“He was HYDRA,” he replies, and she looks at him sharply, almost angrily.  Then she nods and her face loses all expression.

He watches as she walks over to the cage and frees the children, seeming to have recovered.  Steve and Barton head over and they lead the kids out of the maze.  He walks behind, with the Widow, considering that “Natalia” suits her quite well.

 

Back in the Tower, Steve expresses concern that the Widow hasn’t spoken since she shot Makarov.  He doesn’t relate what she said about the man, and Steve gives up his not-so-subtle questioning after a while.  Surprisingly, Barton is similarly concerned and comes by to ask if either of them noticed anything different about Tasha.  Steve says no, and he shrugs.  Barton doesn’t question him, just says she’s sitting on the roof and won’t talk to anyone.  It’s a cold day, and not particularly pleasant up there.

When he’s feeling guilty, he likes to go be somewhere uncomfortable, too.  When Steve and Barton leave, he gets a coat and goes up to join her.


	2. Echoing Your Voice Just Like the Ringing in My Ears

She thought he was dead.  It had been years, over a decade, since she’d thought of him.  She’d married him and was in love (wasn’t she?) and he’d been killed in an accident.  She’d gone to his funeral.  She’d mourned, and had served her country proudly in his memory for years before she couldn’t take it anymore and had defected.  At least, that was the story she knew.  But now it was clear he hadn’t died then.  And branded her a traitor.  Why had he faked his death?  Why was he taken from her?  What did it matter now if he was dead, and at her hand?

The roof was usually a calming place, though Clint frequently staked it out.  It is empty because of the stormy day and finding a spot out of the snow is difficult.  She manages, though it’s not the most comfortable.  She doesn’t want it to be.  It seems that she’d finally lived up to her code-name in a completely literal sense, and she can’t decide whether to laugh or to cry at the realization.  Fighting off either reaction is a challenge, but she’s a professional.  She can be whomever she wants to be now, she reminds herself.  But it doesn’t work today.

She wants to be Natalia Shostakov, married to the charming officer Alexei.  She wasn’t a real housewife, of course, and the union had been set up by the Red Room so she could get close to political enemies.  But she’d thrown herself into the role and it was the best assignment she’d ever had.  They weren’t supposed to actually fall in love, but she hadn’t thought it was much of a problem for their cover to be more believable.  Until they came to say he was dead, and she’d had to move on.  Which she had.  But it was funny how old ghosts could come back and still throw you, make you feel just like you did then.

Something changes and she is aware that she is no longer alone.  Peering around her hood, she is surprised to find Barnes standing not far away, looking out over the skyline thoughtfully.  His expression is usually blank, so she is further perplexed by the softness in it now, and frowns.  She doesn’t need his pity, if that’s what he’s come here to offer.

When he notices her looking at him, he walks over and drops down next to her, albeit a foot away.  “Hey,” he says casually, as though they frequently meet like this.

“What’s up?” she replies in the same tone.

He shrugs.  “I thought you might want someone… neutral to talk to,” he answers.

Her frown deepens.  “And that’s you?” she asks with forced politeness.

Something like a smile twists his face briefly before it becomes blank.  “Barton is your partner and you’re close, but you don’t tell him everything.  Steve is a great confidante, but it’s important to you that he thinks of you a certain way.  You wouldn’t tell Stark’s kid anything about yourself, and Miss Potts isn’t in town.”

She cocks her head at him, unaware that her feelings were so obvious to everyone.  Well, maybe just him.  Reading people had to have been part of his training at some point, she supposes.  His silence and unobtrusive nature makes it easy to forget what he can see with those cold blue eyes of his.  “What about Banner and Thor?  Or Hill?” she suggests.

“Banner’s not the type for confiding, it’s not his temperament.”  She wonders if he knows this from personal experience; he spent a lot of time in the labs downstairs when he first got here.  “Thor’s off-world right now and Hill’s in DC.”

She smiles wanly at him.  “Alright, so you’re the best candidate from my perspective.  But why would you want me to tell you my secrets?”

Other people would be hurt by the question, but he doesn’t seem bothered by it.  He shrugs again.  “It’s just… You’re compromised.  You’re on my team.”

Her fake smile fades and she looks at him, considering his earnestness in answering her.  He’s right, though, so she sighs, turning her gaze elsewhere.  “When I was working for the Red Room, I was assigned to marry Alexei.  He was one of us, so we were both undercover.  But it became more than that.  I was young,” she adds a little wistfully.  “He was Alexei Shostokov then.  They told me he was dead, had been killed in an accident with his plane.  I mourned.  Went to the funeral.  I had no reason to suspect he’d survived.  But he did, and I don’t know why, and now I’ve killed him.  And there’s no one left to question about it,” she finishes abruptly, slightly unnerved by her uncharacteristic oversharing.

She glances over at him and waits to see if he’ll respond.  He’s looking at his hands thoughtfully, maybe nervously.  “That… might not be true,” he responds haltingly.

“What?” she asks sharply.

“I think…  I think I knew him,” he continues in the same tone.

Resisting the urge to grab him by the shoulders and shake him until he explains himself is a challenge, but she’s a professional.  “How?”

He licks his lips, clearly thinking hard.  “I was supposed to rig the plane, to make it look like an accident.  He wasn’t in it; that was the plan.  I… It wasn’t his plan, he was upset about it.  I think I had to subdue him.  Then bring him back to the man in charge.  I think they called him Ivan.”

“What?” she gasps, interrupting his hesitant confession.

He turns to look at her, almost shyly, possibly apologetic.  “I don’t…  I don’t know who Ivan is.  I just remember bringing him to a big house outside of the city and leaving him there.”

Ivan lived in a big house outside the city, though it’s not as if that were a unique classification.  And Ivan isn’t exactly an uncommon name.  But her Ivan was a friend, the closest thing she’s ever had to a father.  He took her in, brought her to the Red Room when she had nowhere else to go.  She is supposed to be upset about that, to hate him for essentially making her a slave of that terrible place, but she isn’t.  He was a kind man, even if those that ran the department were not.  So to hear him implicated in what happened to Alexei…  It’s difficult to accept.

She doesn’t let her feelings show, no outward display of dismay, of shock.  But she can feel Barnes watching her as she stares into the distance, into the lightly whirling snow as though it will give her answers.

“Natalia,” he murmurs and she turns to face him, blaming the shudder that runs through her on the cold.  “I’m sorry most of the stuff from that time hasn’t come back.  But I know what it’s like to be betrayed by someone you trusted,” he offers.

Her first thought is that he’s talking about Steve, but that doesn’t make sense, so it takes her a moment to realize he must be referring to one of the HYDRA agents who took care of him.  It occurs to her, possibly for the first time, that he may be the most likely person to really understand what happened to her, without making up their own version of her.  She puts that thought away to consider later.

“It’s alright, James,” she answers gently, surprising herself by the name.  “Thank you for coming up here,” she adds.  He smiles at her tentatively and she’s reminded of the man from the newsreels that he once was, that Steve likes to think he still is.  The snow is coming down harder now and she thinks he might leave, but he doesn’t, just stares out, deep in thought.  After a moment, she does the same, pulling her jacket closer around her.

A touch on her elbow brings her attention back to Barnes – James? – and she looks over, surprised to see him holding out her coat.  She smiles at him and pulls it over her jacket, breathing a slight sigh of relief as the warmth envelopes her.  “You’re not what I expected,” she says suddenly, amused by the confused look on his face.

“What did you expect?” he asks, concerned.

She shakes her head, unwilling to continue looking at him while she talks.  His gaze is so intense, it makes it hard to maintain eye contact for long.  She doesn’t think she likes being the sole focus of his attention.  “When I first was brought in, after years of having things done to me like they did to you for decades, I was a mess.  I had to be kept under observation for months, and it still took me years to trust anyone.”  She shrugs, smiling self-effacingly at him.  “I’m just saying it wouldn’t have occurred to me to bring my own coat somewhere, let alone someone else’s,” she explains.

His face slowly broadens into a smile.  “Well, I think it was probably a habit of mine, from before,” he answers, not quite looking at her, the fondness in his expression not directed toward her. 

Thinking of young and sickly Steve Rogers, she supposes.  She wonders how that would be, how that kind of thing might have changed her rough transition into being her own person.  She hadn’t been one before, not since she was a child.  Perhaps he’s having an easier time because there was a past self to find.  Seeing one of the greatest and most feared assassins in history smile gently while thinking of his childhood is certainly a strange sight, she thinks.  Makes him seem human.

“You didn’t have any close friends when you were young?” he asks, bringing her back from her thoughts and causing her to wonder just how readable her face is these days.

“Well, I don’t remember too much from before the Red Room.  I was an orphan, and Ivan took me in.  There was a girl, though, named Yelena.  We were friends, as much as the Red Room would allow, anyway,” she offers.

He nods, looking thoughtful.  “Yelena Belova?”

She frowns.  “Yes.  Did you know her?”  This whole conversation seems like too much of a coincidence to be real.  Though no more so than the rest of her day, she supposes.

His brow furrows as he considers this.  “I don’t know.  Everything after the war is all jumbled,” he says apologetically, motioning toward his head with his left hand.  The other is tucked into his pocket.

“Hmm,” she replies.  “Do you remember getting this?” she changes the subject, nodding toward his hand.

He looks down at it as though taken aback that it’s still there.  “Yes,” he says shortly.

“That’s unfortunate.  I’m sorry,” she tells him, a little surprised by her sincerity.

With a shrug, he tucks the offending hand away.  “It’s fine.”

“Do you remember Steve?” she asks, figuring that won’t be something that bothers him to discuss.

“When we were kids, yeah.”

He doesn’t seem willing to continue without prodding, and she doesn’t know what to say to get him to talk.  It’s fine if he doesn’t, she decides, and they lapse into silence.  She admits to herself that she does feel better having told someone about Alexei.  Maybe not all the details, but she doesn’t think she’s ready to tell anyone how she really felt about the man.  How it was to feel that strongly, possibly for the only time in her life.  She keeps her distance from people now; it’s safer.  Letting Clint and then Steve get close was a challenge, but seems to have worked out well.  Maybe she’ll take a risk on befriending Barnes, too.  James.  He could use a friend.

“Hey, Tasha, what are you –” Clint’s casual tone is interrupted when he sees who is sitting next to her.  Both of them jumped a little at the sound and turned to look for the source, and she wishes Clint wouldn’t be quite so silent when he moves around.  “Am I interrupting?” he asks politely and she smiles winningly.

“Not at all, Clint.  We were done reminiscing, I think,” she adds, glancing at James to verify.  His face is expressionless, but his eyes can’t hide how he feels about the interruption to their companionable silence.  Instinctively, she reaches out to pat his forearm and he relaxes a little.  “We should probably head inside, don’t you think, James?” she suggests.

He nods and gets to his feet.  Clint has been watching the exchange with interest and she gives him a look to prevent him from commenting.  James glances around the roof briefly then walks toward the door, Clint stepping out of the way when he gets close.  “Good work out there today,” Clint says haltingly, compliments not really being his thing.

“Thanks for saving our asses,” James replies before disappearing through the doorway.

Clint looks at her appraisingly, arms folding over his chest to maintain warmth – he hadn’t brought a coat.  “Talking about Russia?” he asks.

Used to his insight, she nods.  “We knew some of the same people,” she explains flippantly.

His eyes narrow at her tone, but he moves back to hold open the door and waits expectantly for her to come forward.  After a moment, she does.  Inside, James is nowhere to be found and she decides to head to her room.  Clint doesn’t follow, but she hears him mutter something about letting her keep her secrets before she gets out of earshot.


	3. My Favorite Dreams of You Still Wash Ashore

Things are coming back faster now.  Everything is pain and cold and blood and death.  During the war, after it, and he wakes up screaming more often than not.  Steve helps when he can, Sam gives him someone to confide in, but it doesn’t make any difference.  He’s going to remember everything, apparently, whether he likes it or not.

He spends more time on the roof, staring out.  It’s a comfortable place to be by himself, which is what he prefers.  Even if Barton or Natalia happen to join him, they never expect him to say anything.  He sees more of both of them now, whether on a mission or not.  He doesn’t know what she told Hawkeye about their conversation, if she told him the whole truth, but it’s none of his business.  He appreciates the companionship.

When they are on a mission, they joke more with him.  Steve did, before, but it was because he was remembering missions with Bucky.  This seems more natural, though he feels guilty thinking that way.  He enjoys the camaraderie, enjoys the unexpected feeling of belonging.  He supposes that is what the Avengers are all about – giving some very … unique people a place to be normal.

He still talks to Sam regularly, still spends time just being with Steve, but he’s starting to think it’s more than just going through the motions.  It’s less like an act he’s trying to maintain.  He feels almost comfortable in his own skin sometimes, which is a new (and pleasant) experience.  Being part of the team, his mind no longer quite so much of a jumble, does great things.  He’s pleased to have come here.

Intermixed with the nightmares, the killing, comes something else, something wholly unexpected.  He starts to remember feeling, well, human before.  He can’t understand why he feels so peaceful remembering being in some cramped concrete room until he realizes he’s not alone in there.  There was someone else, someone who was his… friend before.  It’s a surprise, to say the least.  He remembers being kept on a pretty short leash, and entertaining guests was certainly not protocol.

He thinks maybe he is just confused, that he’s misplacing some memory.  Maybe it was in a bunker during the war – he certainly spent time in that kind of place.  But what he recalls from the war doesn’t mesh with this.  He’s almost positive that his left arm was gone, replaced by metal during these memories.  Why would someone befriend him?  He was a weapon, carefully maintained.  There wasn’t any reason why his handlers would send someone to him, or come themselves.  It doesn’t make sense.

After a few days of this, he is convinced his companion was female.  He doesn’t tell anyone.  A few more and he realizes he was unfrozen for a while and was used in some instructional capacity.  There were young women with whom he fought, but never without any lasting damage.  The woman was one of his students, though close to his age.  Well, she was a young adult, at any rate; his own age isn’t something easily identifiable.  He remembers teaching her hand-to-hand combat, though she was already skilled.  She could beat him, sometimes.

She had red hair.  Natalia has red hair, so he thinks perhaps he is projecting her.  Perhaps he is uncomfortable with their closeness (with anyone’s closeness), and is seeking to explain it in some way.  But soon becomes certain that the girl is real.  Was real.  He’s also sure he was the Soldier at the time because he can remember being careful with his metal hand when he fought with the girls.  Not that it is any more likely to have occurred during another part of his life, teaching others to fight.  There were quite a few of them, the young women, but they are hazy, indistinguishable.  He remembers the redhead better every day, though definite ideas on what she looked or sounded like are difficult to grasp.

Sometimes she looks different, no longer redheaded.  He’s at first perplexed by the thought that another young woman was part of his life as the Soldier, but then realizes it is the same girl, in disguise.  Sometimes they aren’t in the training facility anymore, working in the field instead.  He remembers being uncharacteristically nervous during these assignments.  Perhaps he worried that their handlers would discover how close they were.  He can’t imagine it being allowed, him having a partner like that.

If Steve notices his change in behavior, he doesn’t mention it.  They go on missions much as before, most of his assignments still involving close work with Natalia or Barton.  The others don’t call her Natalia, but he can’t think of anything that fits her quite so well.  She gives a little smile when he says it, similar to the one she uses when Steve calls her Nat or Barton calls her Tasha, but not quite the same.  Sometimes she speaks Russian to him, and he’s always surprised by how fluent he is in the language.  He has no memories of learning it.

Sam usually prods him to talk about what he’s remembering, but he can’t bring himself to mention the girl.  Not until he can explain her presence in his life.  Maybe it’s his pride and he doesn’t want to admit to something that could be misconstrued.  He is fond of Natalia, certainly, but no more so than he is of Steve or Sam.  All of them have made an effort to make him feel welcome, and like a person, and he appreciates that.  The fact that she is female shouldn’t matter.

Steve remembers him as a ladies’ man.  He isn’t sure that was an accurate assessment of his actions before the war.  He remembers wanting to find someone for Steve, since Steve was so generally in need of something to lighten his mood.  Making him have to work a little harder to interest two girls in hanging out with him and his buddy (who often wasn’t around to meet her), but it was never particularly serious.  As far as he can remember.

So admitting to someone that he apparently taught over a dozen young women while he was supposed to have been a weapon makes him uncomfortable.  It seems like it would add to a myth about him of which he is already less than fond.  After everything else that he knows happened to him during the last seventy years, it hardly seems real.  He was training them to kill, which was his area of expertise, but it’s still incongruous with the rest of what he did.

 

_His metal fingers run gently down the length of her back, and she shivers awake, turning to lean against him.  “It’s time to go,” he says apologetically, in Russian, appreciating her warmth._

_She sighs heavily, then slips out of bed.  “Alright, get ready, comrade.”_

_They are in a hotel room, a nice one, and he stretches before getting to his feet and dressing.  They don’t speak, just prepare themselves to finish the job they were sent here to do.  He’s comfortable in the silence, in her presence.  It’s dark outside, and they use the window to climb to the target’s room.  Things are going smoothly until they’re not, and then they have to fight their way out.  She uses a move that always works on him when they practice, wrapping her legs around her assailant’s neck and bringing him down.  Then she looks at him with a grin on her face before they make a run for it._

 

He wakes with a gasp, sitting up abruptly and coughing.  If that was real…  It was Natalia, there is no doubt in his mind.  He doesn’t know if she’s kept this from him, or if she doesn’t know, but it was her.  He knew her, when she was younger, when she worked for the Red Room.  They’d unfrozen him to be one of her instructors, and he supposes that is how he knew the name of her friend.

Leaning forward, he puts his head in his hands and closes his eyes, trying to decide what to do.  If he wants to question her about it (he does), he will have to be careful.  She’s a consummate liar and their recent closeness could be used to explain why he would dream of her face on another woman’s body.  But it was her, he’s sure of it; his dreams have been far too real lately to be fabrications.  He’s pretty sure of it, anyway.  Possibly not as sure of himself as he had been about Steve, but close.  No one else uses that move, no one else smiles with that kind of confidence.

The memory could be decades old, he chastises himself.  It could have happened any time after 1950.  But the arm, the hand in the dream…  It was a recent model.  Not the original, certainly, that one was heavier, less dexterous.  The woman he’s been remembering – she wasn’t brought to mind because he feels close to people again.  She came back into his memories because he’s been seeing her in person. 

Well, it seems likely, anyway.

Getting out of bed and dressed gives him something to do, though his fingers tremble with nervousness (the real ones).  The sun is barely rising, but Steve’s already out for his morning jog.  He is relieved not to have to see anyone as he makes his way up to the roof.  It’s empty, which isn’t a surprise.  He doesn’t think the others usually get up this early.  Settling down in his usual spot, he considers how best to approach Natalia about what he’s remembered.  And what he wants to come from that conversation.


	4. Scraping Through My Head Till I Don’t Want to Sleep Anymore

She isn’t one of the earliest risers in the Tower, but she does like to move around in the stillness before the others awaken.  Clint is the only other person on her floor, and he will never wake up earlier than she does.  So she gets to enjoy the quiet without having to lose sleep, and she likes that.  She fixes herself breakfast and sits on the couch in her pajamas, taking pleasure in the loose-fitting clothing for a little longer.

When she’s done, she showers and dresses in her usual figure-hugging clothing.  It’s comfortable, but in a different way.  She’s reminded to be on – to be anyone she has to be.  Not that she’s expecting to need that today, there aren’t any missions, but it’s a ritual she always goes through in the morning (or evening, if required).  Since all her secrets (well, most of them) were leaked, the ritual feels more important, more necessary.  Even if living here puts her in close contact with those who are fond of her anyway.

Clint is still asleep, so she heads down to Steve’s to see if he’s around.  It’s late and she would have thought he’d be done jogging by now, but apparently not.  James is nowhere to be found, which is strange.  Not particularly wanting to just park herself in front of the TV, she decides to go see if he’s on the roof.  She’s always uncertain of her welcome with him, which is not the norm for her.  Most people are easier to read, easier to predict.  His customary expressionless makes her question whether he likes her company or merely puts up with it because of Steve.  She figures if he didn’t like her, though, he’d tell Steve or maybe Sam and they’d let her know.  None of them should be concerned with hurting her feelings in that regard.

The day is chilly, though unseasonably warm for this time of year, and she smiles a little when the doors open and she feels the breeze.  It’s probably a good day for jogging, she thinks but has no intention of acting on.  James is sitting in his usual spot, hands between his knees and legs close together as though he’s trying to make himself look smaller.  It’s not body language she has often seen in him (though it’s what Steve does most of the time), and she’s a little concerned.

Slowly, she moves away from the door, making sure that the sound of her footsteps is noticeable on the cement beneath her.  He doesn’t react, though she can see that something is troubling him.  When she gets closer, all expression is wiped away from his face and he looks intently at the ground near her feet.

“Hey, James.  Mind if I join you?” she asks gently.

His eyes flicker to hers for a moment before he nods.

She sits down about a yard away in one of the lawn chairs provided.  He’s sitting against the corner where the building meets a little landscaped wall, no doubt finding it a more secure place to be.  Glancing over at him, she is disturbed to see that he has grown more obviously nervous.  She clears her throat and he looks over sharply.

“I can leave if you want to be alone,” she tells him quietly.

He licks his lips, his gaze intense but unreadable.  “Stay,” he manages a little hoarsely.

“Alright.”  She smiles at him and leans back, closing her eyes, enjoying the nice weather.

“What do you remember about the Red Room?” he asks suddenly, and she almost jumps.

Turning to look at him again, she smiles self-effacingly.  “Nothing I like to dwell on.  Why?”  He’s not looking at her this time, staring into the middle distance, clearly deep in thought.  “James, what is it?”

“I remember you,” he whispers.

Without context for the comment, she just frowns a little in confusion.  Of course he remembers her – they’ve seen each other frequently for weeks.  Then she thinks perhaps his question was the context and considers carefully how to keep this from becoming volatile.  “You do?” she finally responds.

He nods slowly.  “I was … one of your instructors,” he says in a tone that makes her think he wanted to describe it in some other way.

Her brow furrows in thought as she considers the veracity of his statement.  “James,” she begins gently, focusing on his face.  His expression almost pleads with her, and she reconsiders.  That doesn’t make sense.  She remembers her instructors, remembers being taught.  She remembers leaving there to marry Alexei.  Maybe James wasn’t there for very long, and it just slipped her mind.  Somehow…

“What did you teach?” she says instead of trying to convince him he’s mistaken.

“Hand-to-hand combat.  Target practice.”  He shrugs, seeming disappointed by her reaction.

“I don’t remember that,” she tells him honestly, apologetically.  She doesn’t ask him if he’s sure it’s true, since his uncertainty becomes more apparent each time she speaks.

Frowning at the concrete pathway, he grimaces briefly.  “I do,” he says with surprising vehemence.

She blinks at him, feeling like this is a much more delicate situation than she was prepared to deal with this morning.  “Why are you telling me this, James?”

It hurts to look at his startled expression, and she is relieved when he turns his attention to an errant stone by her foot.  “Because… because everything is hard to grasp.  It’s a mess.  But I know it was you.  I…  It’s been coming back for a while and I wanted to be sure before I said anything.  We were,” he trails off, clearing his throat uncomfortably.  “Close.”

“That wouldn’t have been allowed,” she says without thinking.

He smiles grimly.  “I know.  We were punished for it.  I think they made us forget.”

She turns this idea over in her mind.  There were things they did to her, things she doesn’t remember.  It would be plausible that this is just another one of those.  But she feels a little blindsided because of the source.  He’s watching her, looking concerned – no, worried – and maybe apologetic.  As though any of this were his fault.

“Is that how they usually punished you?” she asks distantly.

“I don’t know,” he answers angrily.  Though his ire is not directed toward her, she is a little startled by it.  Then she smiles slightly: it’s good to see him angry.  He has reason to be.  Steve is always trying to soothe him, to keep him from hurting himself or others.  But she doesn’t think he would hurt anyone.  At least, not anyone who didn’t deserve it.  And maybe keeping all those strong emotions tightly under wraps isn’t exactly healthy.

He’s watching her, perplexed by her smile, uncertain at her response to his temper.  “You’re right to be upset, James,” she tells him.  His eyes narrow slightly, but otherwise his expression remains the same.  She clears her throat, looking away as she considers what to say.  “I don’t know what might have happened in the Red Room, to either of us.  I know what was done there was horrifying.  And we could have known each other.  I don’t… I don’t remember anyone… else,” she says haltingly.

“Besides Alexei,” he supplies when she falls silent. 

When she looks up at him, his expression is unreadable and she isn’t sure how to proceed.  “Yeah.  I’m sorry.”

He shrugs, getting to his feet.  “It’s in the past,” he mutters as he heads toward the door.

“James,” she stops him, following him, grabbing his arm.  He glares, but not at her.  She takes a deep breath, trying to find the right thing to say.  “You aren’t Bucky anymore, but that’s okay.  And you’re not the Soldier anymore, either.  You can be whomever you want to be.  Coming to terms with your past is part of that, but it’s just a jumping off point.  It doesn’t determine who you are now.”

His expression softens a little and he nods.  “I’m glad you’re my friend,” he tells her, and pulls away.  She watches him go, the unexpected reaction she has to being called his friend overwhelmed by the more unexpected reminder of halting Alexei in a similar fashion.


	5. In This Place, It Seems Like Such a Shame

He was hoping for a different response from her, and he doesn’t think she believes him.  It makes him doubt himself sometimes, but he’s pretty sure it was her.  He looks into any details from the Red Room that he can, asking Steve for all the information that he has on either of them.  Steve is troubled by the question, but doesn’t press him.  Sam does come to talk to him soon after, no doubt at Steve’s suggestion, though he doesn’t make any reference to his newfound curiosity.  Nothing provides definitive proof, but it’s certainly plausible.

He doesn’t talk to her about it again.  If she wants to discuss it, she knows where to find him.  Life continues much the same.  He goes on missions with Steve and Sam and Barton and Natalia, and Natalia may be a little gentler around him than she was before he talked to her, but everything else is unchanged.  It’s nice, he supposes, to slip back into the routine.  He’s glad to have friends who support him.

The memories aren’t coming back anymore, at least not like they were.  He may dream of his past a couple times a month, but it’s no longer as intense or frequent.  Perhaps he’s remembered everything he is going to.  Younger Natalia is rarely in them, which he decides is more of a relief than anything else.  It’s confusing to have those memories fresh on his mind when he sees her as she is now, especially as they’re usually on a mission.

His improved state of mind must be noticeable to the others as he is sent on more high-risk missions, sometimes alone.  Accomplishing them is not a problem, and he figures Steve and the others knew that all along.  The concern has always been whether or not he will come back.  There are triggers he may have, implanted by his handlers, which he would be unable to resist.  HYDRA wants him back.  And, while his location has not been made public by any means, they could find him.

So he doesn’t blame Steve for keeping him close by for the first few months.  Or the others for not wanting to be alone with him in the field.  But now he’s treated just like one of the team, and he really enjoys that.  It’s like when he was a Howling Commando again, instead of being like when he was the Soldier.  The freedom is appreciated, and he finds himself actually feeling proud of himself for what he’s done to help them.  If it weren’t for the occasional dream plaguing him, he would be pretty happy.

The connection to Natalia is there whether she will admit it or not.  They are usually on the same page, both on and off mission, and he gets along better with her than with anyone.  Possibly better than Steve, though it’s pretty close.  He doesn’t refer to this and is unsurprised that she doesn’t, either.  Still, it must be noticeable, because they are often put on missions together.

One such mission requires the two of them to go undercover overseas to protect a scientist, Victor Markov.  He finds it difficult to pay attention to the importance of the man after he is told Natalia will be joining him.  He’s been a bodyguard before, and it is in Russia, so both of them are uniquely capable for the mission.  Fury insists on it when Natalia questions his choice.  Usually Steve gives the orders these days, but Fury showed up out of nowhere (something he should get used to, Natalia muttered to him) and said it was vitally important to keep HYDRA from capturing or killing this scientist.

She doesn’t speak to him after that until they are landing in Moscow.  His arm fortunately has tech to keep it from being noticed by metal detectors, though he was apprehensive about flying.  There are no unexpected complications, however, and the mission proceeds as planned.  Their cover is that they are a newly married couple visiting their uncle (Markov).  He smiles grimly at the choice, remembering more than one previous assignment involving faux matrimony between them.  She wasn’t too pleased about it the first time back then, either.

They leave the airport and she drives them to the hotel in which they will be staying.  It’s a nice one, nicer than what he usually endured on missions.  Then they go to dinner with Markov and his people.  Natalia does all of the talking, with him smiling and looking (hopefully) like the pleased bridegroom he should be.  Markov is an older man, mid-sixties, with greying hair and sharp brown eyes – he clearly sees more than he lets on.  Natalia gets along with him quite well, and his friends are similarly impressed by her.  She is very impressive, after all.

When they return to the hotel, she goes through their plan to protect the man and bring him back with them to safety.  He listens silently, but has trouble focusing when she’s standing there in her close-fitting black cocktail dress, shoeless, taking her hair down.

“What is it?” she asks, sounding both amused and annoyed.

“What?” he responds guiltily.

“You’re not listening to a word I’m saying, James,” she chides.

“Maybe I’m just tired from the trip,” he suggests.

Arching an eyebrow, she gives him a knowing look before shaking her head.  “Fine, get some sleep.  We’ll go over it in the morning.  We have a couple days here.”

She goes into the bathroom to get ready and he closes his eyes, wishing he didn’t have so many memories of her that she can’t recall.  It was fine when they had separate floors in the Tower, but sharing the room with her tonight is going to be a challenge.  He figures he’d better hurry up and try to get some sleep before she comes back.

 

_“No!  Stop!  Let him go!” Natalia’s cry echoes across the concrete chamber, but it’s too late.  He’s already strapped to the chair, and even his metal arm cannot budge it._

_“Natalia!” he calls back, watching her break away from the man restraining her and run over to him._

_She pulls uselessly at the metal holding him down and he tries to help her, but the men come forward and drag her away again.  She hurts them, fights back viciously, as he had.  It’s no use.  There are too many of them. She just has to watch helplessly while the machine whirs to life, lowering over his face, and wiping her from his mind._

 

“ – up!  James!”

Her voice is somewhere above his head and his throat is raw from screaming.  He grabs her instinctively, rolling over to pin her beneath him.  But she looks startled, maybe afraid, so he immediately pulls himself away, backing toward the other side of the room.  She sits up slowly, watching him carefully.

“You were having a nightmare, James,” she tells him, her voice soothing, at odds with her mussed appearance.

He allows himself to be soothed, nodding slowly.  “Sorry,” he mumbles, not looking at her. 

She gets to her feet and walks over to him, reaching up to touch his face gently.  “Are you okay, James?”

He loves the way she says his name.  No one else calls him James.  “Natalia, I –” he begins, roughly.  Uncertainly, he turns his head to kiss her palm. 

Her body stiffens for a moment, then she wraps her arms around him comfortingly.  Not quite what he wants, but he isn’t going to move.  “You’re safe, James.  No one is going to hurt you.”  Her hands move slowly up and down his back and he lets out a deep breath.

“We should… get some sleep,” he murmurs into her hair.

She steps back, giving him a gentle smile that hurts more than a glare would have.  “Wake me up if you need me, James.”

He spends the rest of the night awake, wondering what constitutes needing her.


	6. Though It All Looks Different Now

Alexei was her first love and she hasn’t thought of him in years.  Until she killed him.  So maybe it makes sense to have random things conjure up a memory or two of their past.  But what strikes her as strange is that these only occur when James is around.  When he wakes up screaming in Russia, she is convinced it’s Alexei having a nightmare.  He kisses her palm, just like Alexei used to, and it’s hard to know how to react.

They spend the next day with Markov, acting their part and keeping an eye out for HYDRA.  It’s hard to focus, tortured by memories of a man she loved then killed.  But James seems to be able to keep his mind on their assignment, so she doesn’t feel compromised enough to report in.  Markov is giving a lecture that afternoon and insists on staying for a party in the evening.  His wife is out of town right now and returning for that, so they have to wait for her.  He won’t go without her.

The KGB wouldn’t put up with that kind of sentimentality, but she thinks it’s probably good that SHIELD does.  It’s not exactly why she switched sides, of course, but she counts it among the reasons.  An asset is more than just an asset – they can be a person, too.  And that’s a very important distinction, she’s found.

The lecture is interesting, though over both of their heads.  It’s bizarre to sit in a lecture hall next to James, like they are college students instead of expertly trained assassins.  It also doesn’t remind her of Alexei, so that’s a nice change.  James seems a little strained.  Alert and on the lookout, but whatever woke him up must still be bothering him.  She understands the feeling.

When it’s over, they all get changed and head to the party.  Her dress is black with blue trim, and feels fantastic.  It’s nice to wear a dress for missions, and not just her tac suit.  Even if she feels a little less prepared because of it.  James is wearing a suit and cleans up nicer than she might have expected.

 

“Is she here yet, sir?” she whispers to Markov, her tone and expression betraying none of her anxiousness.  James is clearly tense and she isn’t sure how much longer he’ll be able to stand waiting.  Mrs. Markov should have been here two hours ago.

The old man smiles at her fondly, as though she really were his niece.  “Oh, don’t you worry, my dear.  She’ll be along.  Why don’t you and your husband take a break and dance?  He looks like he could use it,” he adds, winking at her.

She sighs inwardly.  “I’d rather not leave your side,” she answers, keeping her voice down.

Markov shrugs.  “I’ll be fine.  Go have fun, it’s a party!” he insists.  “Vasily, come here and take your lovely wife for a dance,” he calls.

James looks unsettled by the suggestion and his gaze is directed at her sharply.  Then he forces a smile and nods.  “Well, if you wouldn’t mind losing the company, Uncle,” he says slowly, as though hoping to be dissuaded.

Markov claps them both on the shoulders.  “I appreciate what you came here to do, but you look sourer than my old mother.  I’ll be fine for one dance,” he murmurs before pushing them toward the floor.

Giving in, she walks to the closest available space and turns to face James with a delighted smile on her face.  “Come on, beloved,” she teases.

His expression is serious as he takes her right hand in his and gently presses his metal hand (covered by a glove) to her hip.  She rests her left hand on his shoulder, trying not to be distracted by warmth even through the shirt and jacket he’s wearing.  The dance is familiar to her, as most are, and she subtly leads him through the steps.  She pushes away thoughts of dancing with Alexei at the officers’ club, where she likely learned this one.  James catches on quickly and soon can keep up with her.  She smiles at him and he gives her a real smile back.  It’s always a surprise, seeing how the genuine expression changes his whole appearance.  She is starting to think that he is a rather handsome man when the dance comes to a stop and he steps away from her.

Markov is looking upset when they return to him.  “What is it, Uncle?” she asks, slipping her arm through his.

“She’s been delayed,” he tells her, clearly afraid what that might mean for their plans.

It is a blow, but she’s dealt with such before.  James’ eyes narrow and he glances over the room to identify any threats.  “Did she say when she would arrive?”  She keeps her tone light, as though this were just a minor inconvenience as she considers how to accommodate this alteration.

“Tomorrow morning,” Markov says flatly.

She bites her lip to keep from swearing.  “Alright. Well, why don’t we get you home?” she questions.

“Bed does sound nice,” the old man replies, using the correct phrasing to indicate he still feels safe at home.

They bring him back to his house and check to be sure he is as safe as he thinks he is.  There’s nothing to indicate that HYDRA will attack tonight, but she doesn’t feel good about leaving him there alone.

“I’ll stay.  You head back to the hotel and get some sleep, James,” she tells him after Markov has gone to bed.  They kept up the façade, chatting in the front room for a while just in case anyone was watching.

James frowns at her.  “I should stay,” he says stubbornly.

She sighs.  “I got plenty of sleep last night, dear, I’ll be fine.”  His eyes stay narrowed and he doesn’t respond.  He’s taken off his jacket and she can just make out the red star on his shoulder through the starched white shirt he’s wearing underneath it.  She wonders how he feels about it.  She was never so obviously branded.  Throwing up her hands, she goes to close the blinds.  “Fine, stick around.  I’m sure no one will slip passed us,” she grumbles.

The lights are turned off and they make another inspection of the house.  “We’ll take shifts.  You sleep first,” he tells her and she wonders which of them is really in charge here.

“Alright,” she says because she doesn’t want to argue.  She takes off her shoes and curls up on the couch, closing her eyes.  She tries not to think about James standing guard or about dancing, and is eventually successful enough to sleep.

 

“Natalia,” the voice whispers into her dream and she finds herself smiling at the familiarity of it.  Fingers run gently down her back, causing a shiver despite the relative thickness of the dress fabric.

She turns over to look up at him, somehow surprised to find James standing there.  Which doesn’t make a lot of sense, since he used his left hand and it was clearly metal.  Alexei didn’t have a metal hand.  “James,” she replies sleepily.

“It’s after three,” he murmurs.

Sitting up, she is somewhat amused when he steps back a few feet.  As though she might lash out at him.  “Time to switch?”

He shrugs.  “I’m fine if you want to sleep more.”

Inspecting him briefly, she smiles at the lie.  He looks terrible.  Well, exhausted, anyway.  Even when they found him after he escaped HYDRA, he never looked terrible.  Not good, certainly, but not terrible.  “No, no, you get some sleep.  I’ll wake you in the morning.”

After she gets to her feet, he tentatively lowers himself onto the couch and then lays down, an odd look crossing his face.  She thinks about what he said, about them knowing each other, and wonders if he’s right.  And what he might know about her if he is.  He meets her eyes briefly, then closes his.  “Good night, Natalia,” he whispers as she turns to leave the room.

“Good night, James,” she replies gently, the sight of him curled on the couch somehow making her chest hurt. 

The rest of the night passes without incident, though she can’t shake the feeling that she’s been awakened exactly that way once before.  But perhaps not by whom she thought.


	7. I Know It's Still the Same

It’s hard not to watch her sleep.  He remembers sleeping beside her, but there was never time for much peacefulness in their past.  Now isn’t exactly peaceful, he supposes, but dancing with her was certainly relaxing.  And they’re pretty safe here.  Particularly since they don’t have to fear discovery from their handlers in addition to their enemies.  If Steve and the others suspect that there is more between the two of them than being colleagues, no one will object.

Not that there is, he reminds himself.  Even if part of him wants there to be.  He’s a mess, he’s barely human these days.  Trying, but she deserves better than that.  She’s so impressive at what she does, being who she is, that he can’t imagine her wanting someone like him.  He thought she was with Barton, or even Banner, but seems happy on her own.  He won’t get in the way of that.

When his shift ends without anything suspicious happening, she is lying on her stomach, face buried in a throw pillow.  The sight is enough to take his breath away, and he runs his fingers down her back tenderly before he can stop himself.  It’s enough to wake her, and he steps back to keep from taking her in his arms, especially when she smiles at him just like she used to.

Taking her place on the couch is painful – the scent of her is overwhelming.  It’s a relief when she leaves the room to check on things.  He isn’t sure if he sleeps at all, but he does a lot of thinking about their past.  He loved her then, he’s sure.  Even if he wasn’t supposed to be able to feel things like that.  But she doesn’t remember, so he has to be careful not to come across too strong.  He does want to be with her, though.  She’s amazing, how she came back from what was done to her.  In the Red Room, she always impressed him and he loved her for her abilities.  But now she’s her own person and how could he resist that?

Markov rises early, which is helpful.  He is glad not to have to feign sleep any longer.  They bring Markov with them to the hotel to change into more casual clothing, then go to the train station, where his wife is due to arrive.  The place is difficult to secure and he continually looks around for threats.  But he knows HYDRA – and they have all kinds of nasty surprises at their disposal.  Even spotting suspicious characters earlier might not thwart HYDRA’s plans, and he grows more and more anxious as they wait.

“Vasily, the trains are all running a little late this morning,” Natalia tells him with a smile, putting her hand on his right forearm.  It’s warm through the cloth of his coat and he feels a little calmer.

He gives her a weak smile.  “I’m sorry, beloved.  I just worry for our aunt.  I know she hates traveling,” he explains.  An odd look crosses her face at the endearment, but she returns his smile before turning to continue chatting with Markov.

Finally, the woman arrives.  She smiles and waves, and he reminds himself that she doesn’t know who they are or why they’re here.  When she is introduced, she hugs him tightly and then kisses Natalia’s cheek, seeming delighted at these unknown relations from America.  He wonders how she could be so naïve.  When they all pile into the car, Markov whispers to his wife what is happening and she becomes very serious.  He’s impressed that she takes the news in stride, and the two of them start to whisper hastily in Russian too fast and too soft for him to make it out.  It feels like eavesdropping, anyway, so he turns his attention to the road.

Natalia is driving, as usual, but she glances over at him.  “Ready to go home?” she murmurs in English.

He nods.  “It’s a lovely country, but I prefer mine,” he tells her.

Perhaps she can read the deeper meaning he was thinking of, but she takes his hand gently.  It may be for their cover, but no one is around who would care, so he lets himself be optimistic about what it means.

 

Traveling from Russia to New York with people in hiding is difficult, but they manage.  Natalia has fake identification for them, for all of them, and gets them through security and customs.  And, finally, they can leave the Markovs with SHIELD and go home.  He gets more nervous as the mission winds down, afraid he might not be allowed to be this close to her again.  She notices his tension, but just gets a little gentler with him, not referring to it.

When they’ve debriefed with Fury and are finally back in the Tower, she smiles at him as they ride the elevator.

“Well, it’s been fun, James, but I’m looking forward to sleeping in my own bed tonight,” she says casually.

Biting his lip, he nods.  Then takes a deep breath, watching the floors pass by.  Soon they’ll be at hers.  And then she’ll get out.  Without another thought, he presses the emergency stop button.

“What are you doing, James?” she asks slowly, like he’s lost his mind and she has to speak carefully.  When he doesn’t say anything, she gives him a hesitant smile.  “Are you going to tell me more about how we used to know each other?”

She’s teasing him, maybe.  “Natalia – I,” he licks his lips.  “I don’t have to tell you,” he finishes quietly.  Then tentatively reaches out to touch her face with his right hand.  Her expression softens and he leans in to kiss her lightly on the lips.

He releases her and she looks momentarily pleased, but then puzzled.  “James…  I’ve been thinking,” she says a little hoarsely.  He stands back, waiting.  “I’ve been thinking that I wasn’t in – that my memories of Alexei might not be real.  That maybe they were of… Maybe they were planted to cover up something else.”

“Cover up what?” he asks warily.

She moves closer to him, looking up with a sorrowful expression on her face.  “You,” she answers simply.

“What makes you say that?”  He really wants to kiss her again, but he waits.

Licking her lips, she looks passed him.  “Whenever you touch me, I’m reminded of him.  Even when it doesn’t make sense.  He didn’t have this,” she explains, touching his left arm almost reverently.

Uncertainly, he nods.  “Can I kiss you again?” he finally says when she doesn’t continue.

She smiles.  “Well, I think it’s the best way to test my theory,” she teases.

He doesn’t need any further prodding.


	8. Everywhere I Look You're All I See

Kissing James is a little strange.  She keeps being reminded of the last time it happened, which has been replaced by implanted memories of Alexei.  She doesn’t know how close she really was to the man she married when she was just leaving the Red Room, the man she subsequently killed.  She suspects it wasn’t anything like she thought.  Because this feels right.  Familiar.  She doesn’t have any memories of missions with Alexei, and working with James is so easy.  It fits.

Eventually, he breaks away and rests his forehead against hers and she closes her eyes, slightly uncomfortable at the thought of how meaningful this is for him.  And whether or not it’s the same for her.

“Well, someone might want the elevator,” she teases.  Distancing herself.

He smiles and presses a kiss to her forehead.  “I’ve missed you,” he whispers.

She takes his hand in her right and pushes the button for the elevator to keep moving with her left.  He’s watching her silently, as though memorizing her features.  Feeling inexplicably shy, she supposes it’s more like when she knew him before than any of her more recent relationships.  The elevator opens on her floor silently and she shifts her weight uncertainly.  His fingers tighten around hers and she hides a smile.

“Do you want to … come over?” she suggests haltingly.

“Sure,” he replies.

Moving forward with purpose, she leads him through the entryway, the kitchen, the living room, to her bedroom.  His feet slow a little as they get closer and she wonders what he expects.  Her room isn’t small, including a sitting area near the window, where she heads.  That seems to relax him some, and he sits down across from her, still holding her hand.

He’s studying her face and she fights the urge to look away.  “How long have you been sure?” she asks.

Turning his attention to her hand, he runs his fingers across her skin slowly.  “A few weeks.”

“And you were content to keep it to yourself?  Not bring it up again?”

He blinks up at her.  “What do you mean?”

Moving slowly forward, she settles into his lap, his arms automatically wrapping around her.  “You didn’t think that we get along so well that I might be… interested with or without a shared history?”

Instead of answering, he kisses her, first gently then more insistent.  The gesture is eloquent enough and it’s some time before they speak again.

 

His left arm is under her pillow, his right loosely around her waist as she lies on her back, looking at the ceiling and smiling faintly.  He presses a kiss to her shoulder sleepily.  “What is it?” he murmurs.

“I was just thinking how… unlikely this is.”

Waking up a little, he looks at her with a serious expression and she turns to face him.  “Nothing done to either of us was likely,” he says darkly.

Gently, she brushes his hair out of his face.  “I suppose.  It’s fortunate we have each other, then,” she offers.  He nods, gaze directed past her, clearly elsewhere.  “James.”

His attention returns to her immediately, and she hides a smile.  “Natalia,” he responds, questioningly.

“What do you remember about me?  About us?” she adds when he hesitates.

The way his arm draws her closer to him protectively makes her ache.  “Once, when the training got rough, your friend Yelena tried to run away.  You came to me and explained the situation and asked for my help in finding her before your superiors did.  It was the first time anyone had talked to me like I was a person in decades.”

She runs her fingers across his chest, tracing the scarring around his left arm.  That memory must have been erased instead of replaced.  “Did we find her?” she asks.

“I did.  She was terrified of me, but you convinced her not to be, that I wasn’t someone to fear.  That I wasn’t there to kill her.  I didn’t…  I didn’t understand why you put such faith in me.  I tried to live up to it, after that,” he explains slowly, distantly.  Then his eyes flicker to hers and he leans in for a kiss.

Obliging, she smiles at him.  “And how did you do that?”

He shrugs.  “I worked harder to give you the skills you would need to survive this kind of life.  Because… because I didn’t want you to have everything burned away.  I thought maybe they wouldn’t, if you were good enough.”

Gently, she runs her fingers through his hair.  “I think I love you, James Buchanan Barnes,” she tells him quietly, happy to have something to call him.  She remembers, vaguely, being uncomfortable with only being able to refer to him as the Soldier or the American before.  It’s a nice name.  It suits him.

“I love you, Natalia Romanova.”  On his lips, her real name is pretty suitable


End file.
